


Kid With the Leash

by TulipFluff



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adorable Georgie Denbrough, Crack, Deadlights (IT), Gen, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Good Pennywise (IT), Kid With the Leash Trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28007685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TulipFluff/pseuds/TulipFluff
Summary: Basic Trope: A kid holds back his Sealed Evil in a Can from doing evil.--TVTropes.OrgGeorgie Denbrough doesn't tell lies.The Universe just doesn't let him.Pennywise wishes It had known that sooner.
Relationships: Georgie Denbrough & Pennywise, Maturin | The Turtle & Pennywise (IT), The Losers Club & Pennywise (IT)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Kid With the Leash

It awoke with Its usual sense of fanfare: slowly at first and then all at once, the Deadlights swirling back into blazing, maddening fire with an explosion of sparks and a silent, shuddering roar that those in Derry would feel as a brief flutter of fear and then shrug off. The Deadlights spun in rapid arcs, and an observer—if any could gaze upon Its true form and not wither into a mindless, screaming husk at the sight—might have compared the motions to a good morning stretch, the languid motions of a cat coming out of a midnoon nap.

Slowly, silvery-white wisps began to collect in the eldritch caverns beneath the underneath of Derry, and they swirled like nebulas until vaguely they took shape under the pulsing rhythms of the Deadlights. First came the long torso, then longer legs and spindly arms, and finally a great bulbous head. It was, curiously, like a clown, if clowns were monsters and craved human flesh—so, It was a clown.

The eyes popped in last, after the frills and pompoms and fiery orange hair, rolling in from the back of the head and then drifting apart in their own wandering directions. There was simply too much to gaze about, and with only two eyes in this form, It wasn’t going waste time with only _one_ directional sight.

It stretched Its limbs high and wide, and then began twisting in directions no humanoid figure should turn. It had no lungs to draw breath, but did the motion anyway, flicking a long tapered tongue over Its teeth and huffing a satisfied breath.

 ** _Good morning, brother_** , said a most unwelcome Voice and It frowned. **_Did you sleep well?_**

“Wonderful,” snapped It. “Maybe you should give it a try?”

The Turtle was a curious presence, something neither here-nor-there, but always in the corner of awareness. The greeting was customary; they could only ever ignore each other at best, and It often tried Its best. But, hungry from a long hibernation, It felt waspish and thought, _Maybe something sweet for breakfast._

It felt the Turtle’s presence frowning in Its mind and honestly, Its brother’s irritation was almost as gratifying an appetizer as fear itself. It tumbled up through the dark caverns It called home, up into the sewer systems that ran beneath Derry. The large cistern was Its favorite, and it was satisfying to see twenty-seven years hadn’t touched it. The tower was just as It had left it, stretching up to the ceiling and telling three centuries’— _more!_ —of history. There were bones and toys, bicycles and tricycles, coats, mittens, baseballs, dolls and stuffed animals, even eyeglasses and shoes, _anything_ It found fascinating on Its victims at the time. All these knickknacks were piled up around the old circus wagon It loved best, the old _Pennywise the Dancing Clown_ chipped and faded but still legible, but It could pick up any old souvenir and remember its original owner perfectly.

 ** _Hoarder_** , said the Voice. It swiveled one fisheye to search out the presence and pin it down, but that was chasing shadows.

The sewers were alive with noise, a heavy rainfall topside threatening to flood the cistern if the sewers in Derry were tied to perfect reality. As it was, the sewers wouldn’t dare sweep away Its monument of success, so It didn’t worry. Instead, It drifted through the drainage systems, scenting the heavy air for something, _something_ —

There!

It swept Its tongue across Its teeth, peering through the town of Derry with eyes that were not eyes. A little boy, playing all alone in the rainy, dreary weather?

 ** _Oh, Georgie Denbrough_** , said the Voice, a note of exasperated fondness in its tenor.

The clown scowled. The old Turtle liked to watch the ants upon the world, but it rarely picked favorites. The fondness pouring off the Turtle’s shadowy presence was _disgusting_ , almost enough to curb Its ravenous appetite—but not quite.

Still, the Turtle only ever watched. 

The little boy was chasing a paper boat down the waterlogged streets and It tracked the sewer drain the boat would fall down.

It waited.

* * *

Georgie Denbrough watched the gray skies solemnly. To the six-year-old, these three days of rain had felt like Noah’s storm, and when the fourth day dawned still raining? Well, a boy had to draw a line somewhere.

He had gone to Bill first, but Bill was curled up in bed with his sketchpad and coughing weakly when Georgie wanted to play. It made Georgie a little sad, but he had nodded, wandering off to follow the sound of his mother’s music.

His mother had spent the morning playing her piano and she hardly paused when Georgie pestered her for attention. “Go play with your brother,” she said, fingers sailing smoothly through her notes.

“Bill’s sick,” said Georgie, and his mother frowned, concerned, because Georgie never lied. Already she was planning lunch, adding a soup to the menu.

Somewhere upstairs, Bill’s eyes widened, and he rushed from bed to run to the bathroom, only barely making it in time.

“We’ll do something after lunch,” she said. She missed a note and sighed. “Just… find a way to entertain yourself for a bit, okay? Mom’s practicing.”

“Okay,” said Georgie.

Upstairs, he found Bill looking worse for wear, a little sweat-damp but still kind enough to help when Georgie brought out the crafting book and pointed at the paper boats. Billy was just that kind of good brother, thought Georgie, and he hugged him and told him so as he left.

Bill blushed and said, “J-just be home before lunch and Mom won’t know.”

“I will!” said Georgie, with all the conviction to reshape the universe.

Now, Georgie ran down the pavement, desperately trying to catch the _S.S. Georgie_ before she tumbled down the drain—to no avail. She disappeared on her maiden voyage, swallowed up in the inky darkness. Georgie peered down with trepidation. It was dark in there like under beds and closet corners and Georgie knew, like all six-year-olds, that strange things happened in darkened spaces like that. Maddening things, even if parents said otherwise.

He leaned forward—

—and found bright yellow eyes staring back.

“Hiya, Georgie,” said a voice in the dark, and out of the shadows stepped… a clown! Friendly blue eyes and a bright red smile, it brought a smile to Georgie’s face. He had always liked clowns, even though Billy seemed to regard them with mild confusion at best. There were clowns at the state fair and sometimes clowns on Georgie’s television shows, and they always seemed like bright, cheery creatures, even if the one the sewer, as far as Georgie could tell, looked a little pale and washed out. What one was doing in the sewer, well, clowns were funny like that, weren’t they?

And _this_ clown held the _S.S. Georgie_ delicately in two fingers. “My boat!” said Georgie, and he rocked forward on his hands.

The clown nodded, smiling. “It’s a nice boat—”

“Did she hit you in the face when she fell?” said Georgie and the clown frowned.

“N… No. Did you want—”

“Why are you in the sewer?” said the little boy.

The clown’s smile stretched wider, although if Georgie were better at reading expressions, he might have seen it for the pained grimace adults-and-similar-creatures wore when dealing with excitable children.

“Storm blew me away,” said the clown. “Blew the whole circus away—”

“Circus?!” said Georgie and he peered down the darkness like he might see a big tent and parade just out of sight. Somewhere out in the ether, an entity was laughing.

The clown wasn’t smiling so much as baring its teeth now, not that Georgie was watching. The little boy was peering down and around the pale clown, heedless of the drool starting to collect on the clown’s lower lip.

“Can you smell the circus, Georgie?” said the clown. “There’s peanuts… cotton candy… hot dogs…”

“Elephants!?” said Georgie. The clown, which had been slowly leaning forward, drew back a moment.

“Elephants?” it echoed.

“Uh-huh, the big circus on TV always has elephants. No shows ever come close enough to Derry, though,” said the little boy.

The clown blinked slowly, first one eye then the other. “…Yes,” the clown said.

Georgie laughed exuberantly. Inside his pocket, the boy’s walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“Mom’s in the kitchen, G-Georgie, ten-minute warning, o-ver,” said Bill’s staticky voice.

“Is that your brother?” said the clown. “Would he like a balloon?”

Georgie didn’t really think Bill _would_ like a balloon, especially since explaining one away would be even harder than pretending Georgie hadn’t gone outside to play. Mom never _said_ they couldn’t play outside today, but Georgie knew he’d never want to ask permission to do so, and a balloon—even if it were a fun animal shape like he figured all clowns must know how to make and produce on command—would just be asking for trouble. Also—

“I’m not supposed to take stuff from strangers,” said Georgie.

Now, the clown perked up. “Well, I’m Pennywise the _Dancing_ Clown,” it said, “And _you_ are Georgie Denbrough. Georgie, meet Pennywise. Pennywise? Meet Georgie. We aren’t really strangers anymore, now, are we?”

Georgie smiled. Bells chimed when the clown shook its head, a charming twinkling sound.

A fresh crackle of static from the radio, and Bill’s voice repeated, “Geor-Georgie!”

“I gotta go,” said Georgie.

“Don’t you want your boat?” said the clown. Finally, the clown was smiling for real again, not that Georgie had quite noticed. The little boy shifted forward for the boat and sighed when the clown jerked it back an inch out of reach. It was just the standard antics of a clown, the boy thought, and he shuffled to reach further in.

“I can’t be late for lunch!” he told the clown with a mild reprimand, trying to be faster, trying to pluck the paper boat away before the clown could try to play another game of keep away.

The clown froze, smile off-kilter and Georgie felt bad, leaving—the clown was probably _lonely_ , for how many children could visit a circus stuck in the sewer? Still, Georgie’s fingers closed around his paper boat without problem and he smiled cheerily to show the clown no ill will.

“We’ll play again later!” he promised, standing up. The _S.S. Georgie_ was no worse for wear for her tumble and Georgie remembered to say, “Thank you! See you later!” as he ran for home.

Slowly, the clown in the sewer unfroze, twitching its fingers and clicking its jaw that had felt, for a moment, wired shut. Slowly, the clown hissed through its teeth and whispered, “Shit.”

It dissolved back to shadow and fell out of sight.

At the Denbrough house, Georgie made it home in time to strip out of his wet clothes and hide the evidence of his rainy day excursion before his mother could see. He placed the boat to dry on his nightstand and ate lunch with his mother while she gave Bill a bowl of soup to eat in bed.

After lunch, she gave Georgie some blank pieces of paper and a box of crayons and said, “Draw me something nice,” while she dusted. Thirty minutes later, she regarded his drawings fondly, sitting with him on the couch while he pointed to everything.

“…and that’s Pennywise the Dancing Clown!” said Georgie. “He lives in the sewer!”

“The sewer?” said his mother, smiling.

“Mmhmm,” said Georgie, “And that’s his elephant, they got blown away in the storm and have to live in the sewer now!”

His mother would smile, wrap an arm around her son, and think— _What an imagination!_

* * *

Down below Derry, in the sanctity of Its cistern, It stared at the elephant in the room. Not the moldy, mildewing stuffed elephant from Cindy thirty years ago, or the tin lunchbox with the dancing elephant from Lucas, or the baby blanket with the faded, tiny elephants from Mary.

It stared at the mild, unassuming Asian elephant in the room, flapping her large ears and standing in six inches of water and she stared back.

Somewhere in the larger universe, the Turtle was laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ITerations and REiterations, Georgie and the Clown, and the Turned Good AU Comic, because cracky or not, Good Pennywise AUs are fun.
> 
> Also inspired by the deleted gag scene, Georgie Catches Boat.


End file.
